


Conversations by Starlight

by EmmaMorgan



Category: Secret Adventures of Jules Verne
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-06-28
Updated: 2010-06-28
Packaged: 2017-10-10 07:44:09
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,019
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/97316
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/EmmaMorgan/pseuds/EmmaMorgan
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Conversations in the wake of an adventure.  Follows the events in "Queen Victoria & the Giant Mole".</p>
            </blockquote>





	Conversations by Starlight

**Author's Note:**

> Many thanks to my beta, stellarmeadow.

I've been aboard the Aurora for over a week now. The Foggs insisted on taking me to see a medical specialist in London following my run-in with the mole. I could not stand on my own two feet at the time and I rather enjoyed the idea of coming to know Fogg, Rebecca, and Passpartout personally. I was welcomed like family-- a member of the team, Rebecca had once said. During those first few days I felt that, but as the physical pain wore away, I begin thinking of the astonishing way in which I'd met the trio, and as I focused, I became aware of one  
reoccurring thought:

I have every reason in the world to despise Phileas Fogg.

The man accosted me in my garret and accused me of being a criminal mastermind. Yet here I sit, at the parlor desk, capturing the anger I cannot voice in my journal. Pondering the man and my own anger.

"It's late, Verne; aren't you going to bed?"

The voice from behind my chair jolts me up and around, face to face with the very person I've spent so much of the night contemplating.

"You certainly know how to startle someone Fogg." My voice is short, snippy, but I am too tired, too angry for niceties.

"Is something the matter Verne?"

There may be a hint of concern in his weary voice, but I am enjoying the look of surprise that crosses his face too much to notice. He'd never expect this, not from me. I'm the kind, sweet boy, he saved from darkness, not a man angry over harsh treatment and misjudgment. "I'm not usually a mystery, am I Fogg?"

He's watching me with open curiosity. "What makes you think that you're a mystery now?" he counters, dark eyes upon me.

"You, yourself, have many times brandished me for my openness, my innocence. I'm not quite playing that part tonight, am I?"

"No, you're not," he snaps.

He's irritated now. This amuses me far more than it should.

"I don't like games Verne. So, if you please, speak now."

"Is this the way it always is? The great Phileas Fogg orders and everyone is to obey?" I ask bitterly.

"Not at all. God, Verne! I only came down here, only asked, because I'm concerned."

"Concerned?" My voice is bitter. "Concerned about me? If that was the case, things would not be as they are now."

"And what exactly are these 'things,' Verne?"

Fogg is angry now, the look in his eyes much like the one I saw in my first glimpse of his face. This reminder serves only to increase my anger, and my next words are in a harsh whisper I hope will not wake Rebecca or Passpartout.

"I thank you for saving my life. I thank you for the use of your airship during my recovery. But I cannot help but be reminded that the only reason I am here is that you accused me of being a murderer! You accosted me in my own home, called me a criminal and worse, and have offered no apology whatsoever!"

I end my tirade with a heaving sigh as I study his face in the dim candlelight. The rage on his face slowly disappears to be replaced with a look one could associate with guilt.

"I am sorry, Verne, that I did not apologize directly following the incident. I'm sorry that accused you and that I attacked you, but at the time there was so little else to go on."

There is a plea in his hoarse voice and I move to stand before him and reply softly. "I know."

I know. I know that Fogg was following the only lead he had. I know his only concern was the fate of his queen and country. I know that it is difficult for a gentleman to apologize in words. I know that despite his outer calm, Phileas Fogg is a dedicated and passionate man who wishes to believe in something, and looking into his dark eyes now, I see that this belief has been placed in me.

It was easier to be angry with him; anger is so much less complicated than fear. Yet, fear is at the root of all my misgivings. Once upon a time it was fear of the spy, now it is fear of the man. This amazingly intelligent, amazingly complicated man has placed this unnerving faith in me and my beliefs.

I have no proof of this, of course. Phileas Fogg hides his faith well, but it's there, none the less. I see it, even in moments of teasing, as he mocks my innocence there is a light, an appreciation in his eyes. He appreciates my ideals, is glad for them. Does he wish to be so innocent again?

Perhaps, he has moments where he wishes to have my innocence, much like the moments in which I wish to have his calm. I am passionate, dramatic, idealistic. He is cool, collected, jaded.

We are quite the pair.

Standing here, silhouetted in moonlight, I see masked emotion in his eyes and know the same is reflected in mine. Frightening.

In the short time we've known each other, we've come to realize we might need one another, and that is the most frightening thing of all.

I've become so lost in thought that I don't notice the thickening silence until Fogg breaks it with a cough.

I shake my head slowly, reflecting on what I'll say to break my silence, then quickly settle for some words of thanks.

"Thank you Fogg, for your apology, for the use of the Aurora, for," I pause, softening my voice, "your friendship."

I can feel another silence descend and am shocked when he steps close enough for his breath to tickle my cheek.

"Jules." The whisper is accompanied by ghostly fingers trailing down my right cheek. "Thank you," emphasis on those words. "For everything."

I've just begun to sink into the ghostly touch, when, in a flurry of candlelight, Fogg disappears up the stairs, leaving me alone with the starlight.


End file.
